


panic is a state of being

by leiascully



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Community: dogdaysofsummer, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-07-05
Updated: 2006-07-05
Packaged: 2017-10-03 07:04:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leiascully/pseuds/leiascully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Muggle London was calm under the light of half a moon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	panic is a state of being

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline: post-Hogwarts  
> A/N: The prompt was panic.  
> Disclaimer: _Harry Potter_ and all related characters are the property of JK Rowling and Scholastic. No profit is made from this work and no infringement is intended.

Muggle London was calm under the light of half a moon but Remus felt the panic rising in the streets, felt it like the sharp edges of his teeth against his tongue, against the tender bits where Sirius' sharp teeth had been. He eyed the dregs of coffee in his cup with suspicious distaste. He didn't like coffee particularly but Sirius was out, prowling, lean and dangerous in black leather but not dangerous enough: Death Eaters traveled in pairs at the very least and Sirius was reckless. Reckless and handsome and consumed by something Remus couldn't understand, or so Sirius had shouted, exasperatedly.

Moony! God, can't you...? But Sirius had stormed off, throwing his jacket on, and Remus did not know what it was that he could not. He drained the coffee, wincing against the bitterness, and it burned in his stomach, indigestion mixing with or mimicking the symptoms of panic and fuck, he really was a middle-aged man, wasn't he? Another of Sirius' conclusions, harsh and _sotto voce_, just at his ear as Sirius put teeth into his earlobe. Touchy, demanding Sirius, incapable of not being physical, even at the peak of his unnameable wrath. Remus was marked with bruises and bitemarks, furious at Sirius for branding him and despairingly proud of belonging so to possessive and desirable a man. He was wearing long sleeves and the collar of his jacket turned up, uncharacteristically stylish and also too hot for the humid summer evening that had settled on London like the infamous fogs.

Fuck, he murmured under his breath, and left the change on the table half under the saucer. Fuck, he said again and stood up and stalked out to the road, murderous along the curb. Why one arrogant beautiful git should affect him was a mystery beyond Remus' reckoning, but now he shouted Fuck! and rammed his knuckles into a brick wall that was remarkably unforgiving. The street was eerily empty for the hour, the city lost in some breathless nightmare. Remus could feel the tension in the air, a prickling on his skin that had nothing to do with the sting and ache of his hand. For Sirius it would be worse: Sirius went through his days clothed in magic, some innate sensitivity that Remus didn't have. Remus was good at magic because he studied it. Sirius was good at magic because it was in his bones, a birthright rather than an infection.

There was a rumble down the street, and Remus shoved his bloody knuckles into his pocket and swore again, quietly. The rumbling grew louder and Remus quickened his pace, detouring down an alley from which the heavy thump of club music emanated. The motorbike gunned up beside him anyway in the inadequate space, and Remus and his affected nonchalance scraped against the wall to avoid the heat of the exhaust pipe.

Get on, Sirius growled.

Why? said Remus, contrary beyond reason. He thought it was the music, the rough sounds that rattled through the wall and into his body and made him bold. He lifted his chin and wished for a cigarette and the smooth cool that Sirius had sometimes.

Get on, said Sirius, half yelping, and his voice broke. Remus looked at him and saw the white flash of Sirius' eyes. Sirius was scared. Now that Remus saw it, he almost smelled the reek of Sirius' fear. We're going home, said Sirius, rougher than disco. I didn't know where you were.

You're the one who left, said Remus, but he was less angry. He didn't want to be out in the electric air waiting for the unfortunate spark that would set off the city. The war was coming to London.

We're leaving, said Sirius, get on.

Where will we go? asked Remus, cool as cool, but he could taste the coffee again in his throat and his heart rattled at an unnatural rate between his ribs, all out of rhythm with the world and the bass through the wall.

Anywhere, said Sirius, and it was half a hopeless prayer. Get on, Moony, you're all I have left.

You'll have to get out of this alley first, said Remus, trying to be reasonable, and he scorched his shin against the bike as they wrestled it backwards, another wound of passion. He swung his leg over the bike and wished for a helmet, but all he could do was bracket Sirius' narrow hips with his knees and hang on the best he could as the bike leapt forward.


End file.
